


Welcome Home

by Hekate1308



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 16:59:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13275879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: It happens gradually. Canon AU, the Thursdays take care of Morse.





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist. Enjoy my first Endeavour fanfiction!

It happens gradually. The first time it does, Morse has just recovered from a bout of the flu. He still feels a bit rough around the edges and tires easily, but he’s good to work.

DI Thursday doesn’t seem to entirely agree with him, but there’s little he can do about it.

Until Morse drives him home that night.

“Might as well come up with me and say hello to Win. She was about worried about you.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“I know that, but she’d still like to see you with her own two eyes.”

He can’t really say no to that, and Mrs. Thursday does indeed shuffle out of the kitchen the moment the door opens.

“Hello Fred – Morse! You look a bit pale, dear. How are you?”

He assures her he’s completely recovered – he might be stretching the truth a bit, but he would never worry so nice a woman as Mrs. Thursday – and is rather confused when it all ends with his coat practically being peeled off and him sitting down with the family for dinner.

As he opens his mouth, either to protest for thank her for the invitation, he notices the sparkle in Miss Thursday’s eyes, Sam’s rather poorly hidden grin and even his DI’s playful smile and realizes he’s been played. Was the whole family in on it? Just so he’d have a home-cooked meal for a change?

As always, the food is delicious, and Mrs. Thursday all but forces him to clean his plate twice. It’s more than he’s eaten over the last week, with him being ill, and he supposes it will do him good, but it also, combined with the tea she brings him afterwards, has the effect of making him feel drowsy and comfortable, as if he could just drift off right there, and he rubs his eyes.

“You really shouldn’t be driving in your state” Mrs. Thursday frets, and he realizes he hasn’t hidden his sleepiness as well as he thought.

“I’m perfectly –“

“She’s right Morse, no point in risking you crashing the car. Might as well put your head down for a bit; it’s only gone eight” DI Thursday says, and that’s that.

He’s a little confused why Mrs. Thursday would hand him one of her husband’s old pyjamas for a short nap, but at this point he’s too drowsy to worry much about it, and the guest bed looks very inviting.

He still remembers to throw the duvet over himself a little bit haphazardly so he’ll eventually wake up.

Instead, he’s jostled awake an indefinite amount of time later by someone fussing with the bedclothes.

“It’s alright, dear; just go back to sleep.”

He’s alert enough to recognize Mrs. Thursday voice, but still feels rather exhausted and nods off again.

* * *

“He’s out for the night” Win reports to Fred in the kitchen. She’s sat up with the kiddies after an illness often enough; Morse just needs a good night’s sleep and a good breakfast tomorrow, and he’ll be right as rain.

Fred shakes his head. “I didn’t want him to come in already, but you know Morse. I’m rather glad he decided to spend the night.”

“I wouldn’t say he decided to; rather he crashed. It happens when one doesn’t take of oneself after being sick.”

“Morse never takes care of himself.”

“I’ve noticed.” The poor boy didn’t even tuck himself in properly. Well, she’s fixed that, at least.

“At least it’s Friday” Fred tells her, “He’ll have a good lie-in.”

“Not the only one in this house. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been feeling a bit under the weather as well.”

She kisses him, wondering how these two ever manage to solve so many crimes without supervision.

* * *

The nap was a good idea, Morse decides when he wakes up. He’s feeling much better than before, and even well-rested; for a few moments, he lies there with his eyes closed, relaxing, before rolling over and –

Feeling the sunlight on his face.

When he sits up, it can no longer be denied that it is, in fact, morning. He’s slept through the night.

He’s not surprised the Thursdays let him rest, but it’s all rather awkward; he’ll have to slip out soon –

The door opens and Mrs. Thursday enters the room, a tray in her hands, smiling and as friendly as always. “Morse! How are you on this fine morning?”

“I feel much improved, thank you” he manages to mumble, blushing. Certainly his boss’ wife shouldn’t be serving him breakfast while he’s wearing said boss’ pyjamas?

“There, a good English breakfast. That’ll have you completely restored in no time” she announces, setting the tray down on his lap. “Just put the tray on your beside table afterwards and get some more rest. No need to get up any earlier than noon, with everything that’s been going on.”

It’s rather difficult to protest against being pampered by Mrs. Thursday, and Morse decides that it’s for the best if he just eats his breakfast and afterwards beats a hasty retreat.

Only his treacherous body has other plans and he ends up dozing off again after all but devouring his plate, properly waking up around eleven.

Feeling somewhat guilty, he sees that Mrs. Thursday washed the shirt he wore yesterday so he doesn’t have to leave the house looking dishevelled.

When he comes down bearing the tray, Mr. and Mrs. Thursday are sitting in the kitchen.

“There he is. Good to see some colour back on those cheeks, Morse.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Morse. How are you feeling?”

“Very much better, Mrs. Thursday.”

“How often do I have to tell you? It’s Win. Here, let me just –“ She takes the tray out of his hands.

He clears his throat. He’s really overstayed his welcome. He’s about to make his excuses when DI Thursday says, “Joan and Sam are out with their mates, you know how it is.”

He doesn’t. He’s never really had any “mates” to go out with.

“Have been promising Win I’d be repainting the shed this weekend… Fancy giving me a hand?”

“Fred you are not going to rope your DC into doing housework for you!”

“It’s no problem” he assures her, “I don’t mind.”

Mrs. Thursday just called him his governor’s DC. Ever since his mother died, he’s never been anyone’s… anything really.

Except for that one time when he thought he was actually lucky, when he thought he might be getting married…

“I’ll gladly help sir” he says quickly to avoid remembering.

“Thank God” he breathes and Win – Mrs. Thursday glares at him.

“And just recovered from the flu, too! Fred, you better make sure he takes a lot of breaks, do you hear?”

“I wouldn’t dream of overworking him, he does that enough himself.”

Morse supposes their children are used to them bantering over their heads; he has no clue how he’s supposed to act. He was only twelve when Mum died, and his father and Gwen weren’t fond of friendly bickering. Most of the time when he tried to say something, he was told to shut up.

“I’ll go get one of Fred’s old shirts for you” Mrs. Thursday decides, “You can’t paint in this one.”

And so he ends up painting the Thursday’s shed, although his DI, just like his wife demanded, makes certain he doesn’t overexert himself. By the time they’re done – it’s about one pm – lunch is on the table and Mrs. Thursday has set the table for three as a matter of course.

“The children will get a bite to eat while they’re out, but I’m still used to cooking for four on the weekends” she explains as she once again heaps food on his plate as if it were his last meal.

He nods, deeming this the most appropriate response.

“You’re rather good with the brush” Di Thursday says, “Do you often paint houses in your free time?”

Morse shrugs. “My father and Gwen didn’t have much money. If something was broken, I usually ended up fixing it.”

“Don’t tell me they let you handle the electronics.”

“Not that, but most of the other stuff.”

Mrs. Thursday throws her husband a glance Morse can’t read. “At least now we know who to call. Fred has two left hands when it comes to –“

“I don’t think Morse needs to know all about that” he hastens to interrupt her and Morse can’t hide his smile.

They put another coat of paint on the shed after lunch.

“Oh, Win’s daffodils are slowly coming out” DI Thursday says all of a sudden and Morse follows his gaze to the small buds breaking through the soil.

“I wandered lonely as a cloud” he mumbles to himself.

“I know that one. Wordsworth, right?”

He nods. “Thought to have been written between 1804 and 1807, although it is thought to have been inspired by an incident from 1802 where he and his sister came across –“

He trails off. He’s learned that no one ever really bothers to listen to him when he starts to ramble, except for that one short period he believed he’d found someone –

“Daffodils, I assume” DI Thursday says as if he’s actually interested, and Morse finds himself telling him all about Wordworth’s adventures.

Sam and Joan return around tea-time; they have just finished with the shed for good.

“Hey, Morse” Sam greets him, grinning brightly. “Any chance you can come over more often?”

“We all know you are just glad you didn’t have to help, young man” Mrs. Thursday announces, “and guess who’ll cut the bushes after tea.”

“Me and Sam” Joan says immediately, although probably just to annoy her brother, who promptly flops down in a chair and groans.

He stays for tea too, partly because he feels a bit peckish after painting the shed and partly because there really does seem to be no point in him leaving now.

“Morse was telling me about Wordsworth” DI Thursday begins, “Joan, didn’t you have to write something about him at school?”

Miss Thursday sighs. “Yes. Don’t get me wrong, I like reading his poems, but assignments…”

“What is your favourite poem, if I may ask?” Morse asks.

She smiles at him. “My heart leaps up when I behold –“

“A rainbow in the sky; so was it when my life began; so is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, or let me die!” Morse continues.

“Good God, he’s a walking dictionary” Sam says and he looks away, blushing. It’s like Gwen always said, he shouldn’t have put himself forward, a lesson he didn’t even learn at college –

“I think it’s nice to have a young man in the house who actually likes to read” Mrs. Thursday says pointedly.

Sam shrugs. “Guess it’s just not for me.”

“Would you finish the poem, Morse?” Win turns to him. “I think there was more, but I’m not sure.”

He quotes it to the end and she beams. “Really a way with words, hadn’t he?”

Morse eventually leaves them after tea, despite Mrs. Thursday’s entreaties that he should stay for dinner. He only manages to get out because he promises her that he’ll have something to eat when he gets home (somewhat guiltily, since he hasn’t had time to buy groceries and the shops are about to close).

She remembers as he put his jacket on and hurries into the kitchen, returning with two sandwiches. He tries his best to refuse them, but eventually has to take them if only so he can actually walk out the door.

The whole family shows up to wave him off, and he’s left to reflect on the strangest Saturday he’s spent in a while.

Not for long, though.

Because it keeps happening.

Mrs. Thursday, formally content to wait for her husband indoors, makes a new habit of appearing next to the car when they arrive at the house, and her and DI Thursday usually succeed in getting Morse inside “for a quick cuppa” that invariably turns into a whole meal. Soon, he’s a regular guest for Sunday dinner as well.

A few months in, he has to go clothes shopping.

“New suit?” WPC Trewlove asks the next day.

He nods, admitting rather sheepishly, “I put on some weight.”

“Noticed you’d filled out a bit… suits you, really.”

He doesn’t know how to react to that.

And then comes the weekend his phone rings and he picks up to hear Mrs. Thursday.

“Morse – I really shouldn’t ask, but – I’ve set my heart on clearing the shed, now that it’s been painted so nicely, and all of my dears have decided to abandon me, and some of the tools are too heavy for me…”

Of course he goes to help her.

“I really can’t thank you enough” she says while they’re working, “The children slipped out of the house before I could blink and Fred is listening to cricket with some of his old friends.”

“It’s really no problem” he assures her. “I didn’t have any plans anyway.”

Except for hearing music and reading, but he can do that anytime anyway.

“Still, I appreciate it, Endeavour.”  A moment later she breathes, “Oh, I’m sorry, Fred told me, I’m just not used to call people by their last names like that –“

“You can use my first name” he replies, surprised that he doesn’t mind when Mrs. Thursday does it.

“Thank you, but then it’s most definitely Win from now on. I won’t allow anymore of that Mrs. Thursday business.”

“If you insist, Mrs. – Win.”

She beams at him.

They are having tea when Sam and Miss Thursday return.

“We’re having scones?”

“Endeavour and I are having scones because he didn’t let a poor woman down in her time of need.”

Sam sniggers but immediately apologizes. “Sorry. It just sounds so… virtuous.”

“That’s the idea” Morse says mildly, pushing his plate towards him.

“You are much too nice to him, Endeavour.”

“My mother raised me to be kind, Win.”

“If Mum is Win, I’m Joan. I’m fed up with you calling me Miss anyway. I’m not your teacher.”

“I don’t call your father Fred” Morse points out.

“That’s different, he’s your boss.”

When DI Thursday returns, he raises an eyebrow when he hears Win call him Endeavour, but says nothing.

He gets used to it, and over time, becomes comfortable enough to introduce himself with his first name again.

Even if Jakes and Strange like to tease him about it, at least at the beginning.

One night after a particularly harrowing case, Morse caves and sleeps in the Thursday’s guest room again. Win pounces at that and from then on, he’s always offered the bed after dinner.

When he returns home one night he realizes he hasn’t been to his flat in three days. Several of his possessions have made their way to his governor’s home as well.

He shakes his head. Perhaps he should just move in with them. He cracks a smile, imagining DI Thursday’s reaction if he asked.  

A few weeks later, he’s taken aback when, after Sam announces his decision to join the military, it’s Win herself who brings it up.

“Why don’t you move in, Endeavour? It’s not like we don’t have the space, and it’s more comfortable than your flat.”

She should know; she’s been over several times, usually wringing her hands over the non-existing contents of his fridge.

It’s only when DI Thursday agrees with her that he allows himself to contemplate the possibility.

A few weeks later he’s moved in.

That evening, he’s making tea in the kitchen when DI Thursday enters.

“A cup of tea, sir?”

“Yes, thank you, En- Mor-“ he stops and sighs. “Just call me Fred at home, alright? Take care not to do it at work, though.”

It feels too natural to object to it.

Sometime later, getting the newspaper in the morning, he sees Mrs. Hillier from down the street and a ladyfriend of hers struggling with their shopping bags and rushes to help them.

“Thank you, Endeavour”.

“You’re welcome”, he answers, gathering their bags.

“Millie, this is the Thursdays’ other boy.”

Endeavour just smiles.

After all, the description almost fits a little too well, these days.


End file.
